I—I was blind mad—when I set her down at the corner she was cryin’, an’ I was sick wi’ thinkin’ o’ what she’d heard. So I messed it up straight. ‘’Take shame ter yerself,’ I said, ‘ter go listenin’ ter foulness not fit fur men. Git yer home an’ ter bed, an’ furgit it.’ An’ she run from me; up an’ in at the door, an’ I went back———”
“Well then?” asked Tod after a pause.
Steve’s fingers gripped the tussock-tufts until the life flew from them in spurted earth.
“I reckon I did some good work fur Murray.” Then he sat upright, his voice shaken with passion. “Tod—did you ever want ter kill? Ter git on a man, an’ break the back of him, an’ ter see him dyin’ under yer hands———”
“Bedad, I disremimber if iver I did,” said Tod, startled. “Ye’re not afther feelin’ that away wid me, Steve; are ye now?”
“I would hev killed Lou ef I’d had him under me boots in that mix-up,” said Steve slowly. “Maybe I’ll kill him yet.”
“There’s more than wan wud kill Lou with delight,” said Tod, ruminating. “What does he bring Roddy Duncan tu Blake’s for but to git Randal woild wid his gab of Art Scannell an’ Miss Effie? I seen Randal wid murder in the black face of him more than wanst.”
“Art and Roddy were in Phelan’s wi’ the rest,” said Steve, coming to his feet clumsily. “I saw Roddy cryin’ like the girl-baby he is.”
